


Crystal Clear

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Banter, First Dates, First Kisses, Get together fic, Ghost-Hunting Blogger Ryan, Humor, M/M, Ridiculousness, Wellness Store Employee Shane, alternative universe, inspired by a tweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 03:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Shane’s first thought when he sees the guy is,you don’t belong here. His second thought is,arms.Shane works at a wellness shop. Ryan is a customer.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 42
Kudos: 255





	Crystal Clear

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [the tweet a lot of y'all have probably seen](https://twitter.com/meakoopa/status/1194062297284648960?s=21&fbclid=IwAR2p9L3sdgYjw4yhTg-SZI0N48SegHzz-il1kDLPBRH6dHcboIoXRGk2IFo) because, I mean, how could I not?? 
> 
> Big thanks to Catt for helping develop the idea, Eva for the name of the shop, and Aurel for a wonderful beta job! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Shane’s first thought when he sees the guy is, _you don’t belong here._ His second thought is, _arms._ He shakes it off, and quickly backtracks to the first thought. The guy certainly doesn’t _look_ like he belongs in the shop—what with his Lakers jersey, and gym shorts, and athletic socks that climb his calves and sneakers that probably cost more than Shane’s current outfit. Through and through, this guy doesn’t look like the kind of guy who needs healing crystals, or tarot cards, or incense. 

That said, he doesn’t look _lost_. If anything, he looks determined.

Shane sits up a little straighter behind the counter and says, “Can I help you find anything today?”

The guy whips around to stare at him, looking startled as though he just realized Shane is there. “Uh,” he says. He glances around the shop, which is not large but is stuffed to the gills with all sorts of paraphernalia. “Nah, I got it.”

“Alright,” Shane says. “I’m Shane, if you need anything.”

The guy nods, and then he’s off. Shane watches him go, unable to deny his interest piqued. He’s seen his fair share of customers in his two months at Crystal Methods, but none have ever come in wearing anything _sports_ related. Not that Shane has seen, at least. 

Khakis and a snarky but environmentally conscious tee? Sure.

Cut-off denim capris with slip on shoes and no socks? Absolutely.

Long billowing skirts and crop tops with either fringe or beads dangling from the hem? Pretty much every single day.

_ Never _ sports gear. Definitely not what Shane assumes is post-workout gear, or something. 

Shane slips his phone from his pocket and manages to snap a picture as the guy turns down one aisle, giving Shane a clear shot of his black gym shorts and the purple jersey emblazoned with ‘JAMES’ and ‘23’ across the back. He sends the picture to Sara captioned with three question marks.

Sara answers while the guy moves about the store, going from the all organic bath products toward the back of the store. _That’s Ryan, he comes in sometimes._

_ Why is he dressed like that, _ Shane fires back.

Sara doesn’t answer, so Shane pockets his phone and tries to look like he _isn’t_ watching Ryan’s every move. He fiddles with the register and reorganizes the flower-tipped pens in the jar on the counter, and counts the penny in the ‘take a penny, leave a penny’ container. Between each distraction, he glances over at the top of Ryan’s head over the shelves in the store. His hair is an unimpressive black mop, but since he’s the only person in the store right now, he’s not exactly hard to find.

Shane is pretending to be enthralled with the local food co-op’s pamphlet sitting on the counter when someone clears their throat. He looks over to see Ryan standing in front of him, a hefty crystal ball in his hand. Shane swallows a groan—he’d been hoping, maybe, that Ryan was just the kind of guy that likes all natural, organic means of getting swole, not _spirits. _He files away his disappointment and ignores the voice saying _“you could still ask him out”_ that sounds like Sara in the back of his head. Instead, he puts on his best Customer Service Smile.

“Find what you were looking for?” He asks as he takes the crystal ball from him.

“Yep.” Once his hands are free, Ryan shoves his hands in his pockets. “A friend recommended I get one.”

“Ah,” Shane says quietly. He types the item number into the cash register after a quick peek at their list (can’t put stickers on the crystal balls, because it _diminishes_ their _energy_, or something). He tells Ryan the total and as the other man fishes out his wallet, Shane says, “just a reminder, don’t leave this thing uncovered when you’re not home.”

Ryan stops in the middle of pulling out his debit card. “What?”

“Seriously,” Shane says. He thinks of poor Kelsey, and her poor curtains. “Don’t leave it uncovered if you’re not around.”

He’s surprised when Ryan shuffles forward, and even more surprised when Ryan leans close to ask him, “oh, because of the spirits?” His voice is hushed, like they’re sharing a secret.

Shane’s thoughts grind to a halt. He stares at Ryan, who’s staring back at him with wide, earnest eyes. For a second, Shane considers saying yes, just because he gets the feeling it would kind of delight the guy, and that’s an expression he might like to be privy to. But he cannot compromise his morals, not even for someone with a nice smile and biceps he could sink his teeth into.

“No,” Shane says slowly. “If you leave it uncovered and the sun hits it weird, it will burn down your house.”

Ryan leans back and sure enough, he looks disappointed. “Oh yeah, makes sense.” He nods and finishes digging out his card before passing it over to Shane. Shane rings him up and passes back the card so he can wrap the ball in paper to keep it safe in the bag. “It’s kind of spirits, though, right?”

Shane stops in the middle of taping down the paper. “What.”

“The spirits. Like, obviously, reflective surfaces and all that, they’re gonna cause things to catch fire. But it _could_ be spirits too, right?”

“There are no spirits,” Shane says as he bags the crystal ball and hands it to Ryan. “None.” 

There isn’t necessarily a _rule_ about nay-saying customer’s beliefs, but Shane assumes it’s probably meant to be implied more than anything. Working at a wellness shop generally implies one is down with the wellness, in all ways. Shane’s been pretty good about keeping his mouth shut—up until now, because there’s just _something_ about this guy that makes the truth come tumbling out, including Shane’s own belief in the nonexistence of spirits and ghosts and whatnot. 

Ryan opens his mouth, looks ready to argue, but stops. His brow furrows, and Shane curses himself for finding the gesture endearing. “Fine,” Ryan says. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good day,” Shane says—he means it, even. He hopes Ryan has a good day, even if he’s clearly insane for liking sports _and_ mystical shit. He has a sudden urge to ask if Ryan is going to, like, use the ball to ask the spirits to give the Lakers a good season or something, but Ryan’s already walking away.

The bells above the door jingle as the door opens and falls shut, and Shane sighs. _Arms,_ he thinks again, fondly.

“So, Ryan,” Shane says the next time he sees Sara, which is a few days after the whole crystal ball incident. He bends to greet Obi as the cat comes barreling over then follows Sara’s tinkling laugh into her kitchen.

“What about him?” She asks knowingly. She _would_ know, of course. They dated for several years—she can sniff out Shane’s interest in people like a weird cupid-bloodhound hybrid.

“He’s…different.”

“Sure,” Sara agrees. She turns away from the stovetop, arms crossed over her chest, and smiles at Shane. “He’s cute.”

“He believes in spirits, Sara.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Plenty of people do.”

“I cannot date someone who believes in ghosts. Or any of that shit.”

“That “shit” is your job, y’know. And mine.”

“This economy is hard for a film student! You know that!” Shane throws his hands in the air to emphasize his point, but he only succeeds in making Sara laugh. “Besides, he’s not _that_ cute.”

“Yeah, he is,” Sara says. “He doesn’t come in that often though, so don’t worry. You probably won’t see him again before you eventually give up on the shop.”

“I resent that, I’m not a quitter.”

“No, but I’ve got a bet going with Kelsey that you can only hear things like “where do you keep your healing crystals” so many times before you’re going to snap.”

Shane has no response to that; she’s right. He scoops up Obi instead. “You’re awful,” he tells Sara.

“I’m feeding you.”

“You’re the _best_,” and he’s only a little sarcastic when he says it, even.

_ You were wrong, _ Shane manages to text Sara when Ryan comes in a week later. “You’re back,” he says.

Ryan looks harried. He’s got a hoodie on this time, but still the same god-awful gym shorts and socks combo, and his hair is a mess. He’s wearing glasses this time, stylish black frames. They make him look smarter and younger, but no less crazy. He sets a paper bag on the counter in front of Shane with a heavy _thud_. “You gotta take this back.”

They don’t do returns, but Shane’s curious. “Why?”

“My spirit box talked!”

“You’ve lost me.”

Ryan makes a frustrated noise. “My spirit box!” He says again, emphatically, as though Shane will suddenly understand. “I took the ball home, set it up, left it in my living room while I was grabbing a beer, and when I came back my spirit box was talking!”

“Okay, okay, hold up.” Shane holds up a halting hand and Ryan stares at it like it’s offended him. “One, no returns. All sales are final.” He points to the sign just behind him that reads as such. “Two, the crystal ball didn’t _do_ anything, because it’s a ball made of glass. Third, what the hell is a _spirit box_?”

“A spirit box is a piece of ghost-hunting technology—”

“Oh no,” Shane says, but Ryan continues as if he didn’t hear.

“Which scans radio frequencies to pick up on messages from spirits—”

“Oh, Christ, please, no,” Shane says, and Ryan _definitely_ heard him that time, but doesn’t respond.

“And that fucking crystal ball made mine turn on, randomly!”

Shane finally relents and lets go of the last dregs of his professionalism. He bends until he can press his forehead to the countertop. Ryan groans, annoyed. Shane takes a deep breath, steels himself, and stands up straight again. “I have so many questions,” he says.

“Oh, I bet you do.”

“Why’d you buy a crystal ball if you didn’t want to hear from spirits, which again, _do not exist_?”

“I got it to communicate with spirits on _my_ terms! I didn’t think it was gonna let them access my spirit box without me!”

“Nothing is accessing anything,” Shane says more for form’s sake than anything else, because he knows he’s not going to convince Ryan anyway. “Second question, do you think your apartment is haunted, or something?”

“A place doesn’t have to be haunted to have spirits in it.” Ryan speaks like Shane is especially stupid or slow. “There are spirits all over the place, they’re _energy_, so they can just, like, be floating around.”

“Uh huh.” Shane blinks at Ryan and, quietly, revels in the frustrated way Ryan starts tugging at his hair, knocking his glasses a little askew. “Well, hate to break it to you man, but we don’t do returns. Especially not for shit like ghosts or spirits or other things that are not real.”

“They’re real!” Ryan shouts. He glances around sheepishly as soon as the words are out of his mouth; when he’s sure they’re the only two around, he rounds on Shane with a glare. “If you heard it, you’d believe.”

“I’m sure,” Shane says agreeably and sarcastically.

“Fuck you, dude, come over to my apartment and I’ll _show_ you.”

Shane’s breathing catches in his chest but he’s pretty sure Ryan doesn’t notice. “You’re inviting me over to your apartment to listen to some shitty radio?”

“I’m inviting you over to show you proof! Of the supernatural! I can show you this video of the time I was on the Queen Mary, it was really compelling—"

“Okay,” Shane says.

Ryan stops in the middle of whatever story he was about to tell. “Wait, really?”

Shane nods even though he’s already kicking himself for agreeing. This can’t end well. It’ll probably end in a shouting match and Ryan physically throwing Shane out of his apartment. _Worse ways to go,_ Shane thinks.

“Yeah, sure. I’d love to see some _proof_,” and wow, he didn’t mean to come on quite so strong, but if Ryan’s put off by it, he doesn’t show it.

Ryan brightens up immediately. He even snatches the bag with the crystal ball off the counter. “Awesome!” He shoves a hand into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and produces his phone; he unlocks it and then looks expectantly at Shane. “Uh, phone number?”

“Oh.” Shane rattles off the digits and wills his cheeks not to burn. Seconds later, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a message reading _MY NAME IS RYAN BTW._ Shane doesn’t tell him he already knew that. He saves the number under a ghost emoji and puts his phone away again. “Alright, text me the deets and I’ll be there.”

“Well when works best for you?”

Shane waves a flippant hand. “Ehh, any time, really. I work Tuesdays and Thursdays and I’m usually done with classes by five or so.”

“So, this Saturday would work?”

“Sure.” Shane swallows, his mouth suddenly going dry. “Anything I should bring? Ouija board? Incense? Mood music?”

Ryan scowls at him, but it’s curling at the corners like he’s fighting a grin. “Just bring your socks, cuz I’m gonna knock them off!”

A barking laugh bursts from Shane’s mouth. “Jesus Christ,” he says, horrified to find he already sounds _fond_. “I will be sure to wear my finest socks.”

Ryan laughs too, a quiet and sharp thing. “Awesome, man. I’ll text you my address.” He hesitates a moment, fidgeting where he stands, before he nods at Shane and hurries out of the store.

The bells chime as Shane goes for his phone again.

_ I think I have a ghost date with Ryan, HELP. _

Sara’s response is almost immediate, which makes Shane wonder how much work she’s actually getting done in her class today: _lol RIP._

Ryan texts him to come by “any time after one on Sat, unless you wanna bring me lunch in which case you can come over earlier.”

Sara sees the text during their usual Friday night dinner together and laughs at Shane until she cries. Superbly unhelpful. He’s in a _crisis_ here, and he tells her as much. Is this a date? Is Ryan really going to try and show him proof of ghosts? Is this Shane’s life, now? Sara has answers for none of these questions.

“Just bring him lunch,” she tells him, “knock _his_ socks off.”

So Shane figures out what Ryan likes for lunch and shows up on his doorstep at twelve-thirty promptly, a drink carrier with two coffees in one hand a bag with two toasted bagels in the other. Ryan buzzes him in and is waiting with the door open by the time Shane gets up to his floor.

“Oh, you really brought breakfast.”

“Yes?” Shane says. “I didn’t ask you what you like on your bagels just out of personal curiosity.”

“Well, I,” Ryan starts, stop, “I don’t know, man. You’re fucking weird.”

“I’m here so you can show me proof of ghosts, and _I’m_ weird?”

Ryan flips him off but takes the drink carrier from his hand. “C’mon, it’s over here.” He leads him the short few steps to the couch tucked against one wall, with a coffee table in front of it. On the coffee table sits a laptop and what Shane can only guess is the famed spirit box. He already hates the look of the thing.

Shane falls onto the couch and keeps a respectable distance between them. He digs one bagel out of the bag and tosses it at Ryan before unwrapping his own. “Well, show me the money then, I guess.” He takes what he hopes is a long-suffering bite out of his bagel.

“Socks,” Ryan reminds him, as if that’s a thing normal people just say. Shane hates that he does in fact understand. Ryan reaches for the laptop first and pulls it into his lap, angling it so Shane can see. “So, I stayed the night on the Queen Mary with some friends, and some weird shit happened, but this is what I was able to catch on camera.”

He taps the spacebar so the video starts to play. It’s a video of a bathroom, Ryan’s speaking, the camera is kind of lazily held, not especially focused on any one thing. It goes on for maybe thirty seconds, a minute at most, and then it ends.

“What,” Shane says flatly.

“You didn’t see it!?” Ryan groans and starts the video over. “Watch!”

“I’m watching!” And he is, closely, intently. He’s not opposed to believing in ghosts—if he saw real, concrete proof, sure he’d have to take the L and admit he was wrong. It’s just that no proof like that exists, including this video. It ends again and Shane says, “okay, what am I missing?”

Ryan rolls his eyes and plays the video one more time. He points to the left side of the screen where a ziplock bag falls off the sink. “There, see? It’s totally unnatural! It went like, up, and then over! Like someone picked it up!”

“You set your stuff down at the exact same time. That’s, that’s how wind works, Ryan. You set stuff down and it pushed the bag over.”

“No, no, the way it falls is totally weird!”

“It’s totally not.”

“It is!” Ryan plays it _again_ and Shane doesn’t even bother watching. He watches Ryan instead; he watches as Ryan points almost viciously at the bag falling off the counter, all the while ranting about energy and spirits and this and that and _whatever_.

Shane’s got half a mind to just kiss him and see what happens when Ryan says, suddenly and loudly, “fine!”

“Huh?” Shane blinks, brought out of his daze.

“The spirit box will convince you,” Ryan says firmly.

Shane doesn’t tell him it definitely won’t. They both know already, he’s sure. He shakes his head and gestures to what he assumes is the spirit box. “Go on, then.”

Ryan picks up the spirit box and fiddles with it for a moment before staticky white noise is blaring from the small thing. Shane flinches back with a grunt of annoyance but Ryan only shushes him.

“It moves between the channels too fast for whatever we hear to be like, normal radio stuff.”

“So if we hear something, it’s spirits.”

Ryan nods excitedly for a second before he catches sight of Shane’s unimpressed expression. He scowls. “Yes, asshole, that’s how it works.”

“Alright.” Shane munches on his bagel as the spirit box carries on. There are stray syllables, almost-words here and there, but nothing _supernatural_. Even when the box spits out something that could, potentially, be a full sentence, Shane’s not impressed.

He’s more enthralled with the way Ryan watches the box like it holds the answers to the universe. When the could-be-a-sentence-but-probably-not happens, he jumps in his seat and lets out a shriek of, “see?!”

“Please, god, turn it off,” Shane says after a while. “My ears are bleeding.”

Ryan does. “Okay, not the _most_ compelling spirit box session I’ve had, but you heard that sentence!”

“I heard something that could maybe be words, depending on who you ask, but that’s kind of how radios work.”

“Ugh.” Ryan shoves at his arm, but not hard. He finally picks up his bagel. “My apartment doesn’t have a lot happening in it, that’s probably why.”

“I thought you said spirits were everywhere, because they’re _energy_.”

“They _are_, but obviously they’re going to be more powerful or frequent in a place where, like, they died.”

“Obviously,” Shane drawls.

“Fine! Come to this haunt with me! I was gonna go there tonight anyway, you can tag along.”

“You…go to haunted places? Looking for ghosts? You actually _hunt_ ghosts?”

Ryan grins, like he’s _proud_ of this. “Yep.”

“Oh my god.” Shane finishes his bagel and makes a miserable noise. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Ryan shakes the spirit box pointedly, which like, yeah. Okay. Fair.

Shane sighs. “You were seriously already planning to go looking for ghosts tonight?”

“Yeah, I usually do on Saturdays. I run a blog.”

“Of course you do.” Shane trades his crumpled-up napkins for his coffee on the table and sips at it. He stares at Ryan while he does, and Ryan stares back. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this, but sure. Yes. I will go ghost hunting with you.”

Ryan does a quick fist-pump of success. “I’ll show you! You’ll see!”

“My eyes are open and ready,” Shane agrees. _It’s going to be a long night_, he thinks. “That’s not till tonight,” he says instead.

“Yeah…?”

“What are we going to do until then?”

“Oh.” Ryan blinks as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. It probably didn’t it. Shane wouldn’t dare do it out loud, but internally, he may or may not be sighing affectionately. “Uh, do you like Super Smash Bros?”

“Am I an idiot?”

“Well, you refuse to accept proof when it’s right in front of you, so yeah, probably.”

Shane gives him a dithering look. “Yes, I like Smash. Let’s play.”

Ryan does another fist-pump and Shane pretends it doesn’t make him a little swoony.

They break from playing Super Smash Bros long enough to PostMates some Chipotle—

> _ “This is your only redeeming quality so far,” Shane says seriously. _
> 
> _ “That I like Chipotle? Who doesn’t like Chipotle?” _
> 
> _ “You’d be surprised.” _
> 
> _ Ryan scoffs. “Whatever. You’re so weird.” _

—But before Shane even really realizes it, the sun is starting to set outside and Ryan’s rising off the couch and stretching.

“I’m gonna go get changed,” he says.

“Wait, you need to change? Do you have special ghost hunting gear?”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to explore this place is sweats and a hoodie, man. I’ve got to get my boots on at least.”

“You have _ghost hunting boots_?” Shane asks incredulously at Ryan’s retreating back. Ryan doesn’t give him an answer. Shane pulls out his phone and opens his thread with Sara to see messages waiting.

__ Hope he’s not secretly a serial killer or something and you’re alive  
Are you spending the whole day making out w/ him? Please say yes  
Either you’re dead from like, murder or orgasms. I support both 

Shane replies—_I thought you didn’t want him to murder me—_and looks up as Ryan reenters the room. His outfit isn’t anything special: jeans that Shane would say are maybe a _hair_ too tight, and a button-down that’s simply fighting against the size of Ryan’s biceps. Not that Shane is going to complain.

Ryan’s got a pair of boots in his hands and Shane stares at them. “I’ve got boots like that,” he says.

Ryan looks up. He’s grinning, which Shane thinks cannot mean anything good. “Yeah? Guest you’re a ghost hunter then.”

“That is…_not_ how that works. At _all_.”

Ryan shrugs and stands once his boots are laced up. He grabs the spirit box off the coffee table and snags a backpack sitting beside the couch and says, “let’s go, big guy. We’ve got ghosts to find.”

“No, no we do not.” Shane gets off the couch anyway and follows Ryan out of the apartment. “Also, big guy? What?”

_ Going to some haunted location with him. _

__ Oh, you’re DEFINITELY going to get murdered.  
Or laid.  
But probably murdered. 

_ I’m not going to get murdered, _ Shane replies. He’s reasonably confident Ryan, who wears Lakers gear into hippie wellness shops, is not going to murk him. Even so, he asks, “you’re not going to kill me, right?”

Ryan lets out a wheezing laugh, “what?!”

“Just checking,” Shane says.

“No, I’m not—I’m not going to _murder_ you, Jesus Christ.”

“A guy’s gotta be sure. Taking me ghost hunting is a pretty flimsy alibi.”

“I don’t even know how to respond to you.”

Shane thinks about it. “That’s fair.” He looks down at his phone again to see three knife emojis from Sara. He rolls his eyes. “How much further?”

“Not much.” Ryan side-eyes Shane from the driver’s seat. “You never even asked where we’re going, y’know.”

“I know,” Shane says. In truth, he’d been excited at the prospect of spending more time with Ryan that the thought of asking where they’d be ‘ghost hunting’ didn’t even cross his mind; by the time he had wondered, it felt kind of belated to ask. Instead of saying any of this, Shane, says, “I figured wherever we’re going isn’t haunted either way, so the mystery of where is the only fun I’ll get.”

Ryan opens his mouth but Shane cuts across him. “Nope! Don’t tell me! Keep the mystery alive!”

“You’re so fucking weird, man,” Ryan says between breaths of laughter.

Shane winks at him and maybe it’s just the low light of streetlamps outside, but he could swear Ryan’s cheeks flush pink.

“We’re at a bridge,” Shane says. He knows this bridge; _everyone_ knows this bridge. Either they know it because they cross it regularly—it’s a pretty central spot in Pasadena—or they know it because of _La La Land_, so. “Why are we at this bridge?” He asks Ryan.

Ryan, who is fiddling with the spirit box in one hand and another device in his other. “Because it’s haunted,” he replies simply. “Do you mind if I record this? I usually keep an audio for my blog entry later.”

Shane blinks. “Sure.”

“I don’t have to mention you, if you don’t want.”

“I don’t mind,” he says. He pictures Sara laughing at him for being included in a blog about ghost hunting. “It’s fine,” he reiterates.

Ryan grins at him and nods. “C’mon then, let’s do this.” He turns away from his car and starts to walk over the bridge.

It’s amazingly deserted despite not being _too_ late at night, but not especially eerie. It’s kind of beautiful, Shane thinks. The sky is open, and everything is peaceful. There are worse places to be on a Saturday night with a hot if idiotic guy. Shane bites his lip on a smile.

Ryan starts to narrate as they step onto the bridge. He rattles off his name, the date, and mentions Shane with a glance his way. “We’re at the Colorado street bridge in Pasadena, also sometimes referred to as the suicide bridge.”

“Or that bridge from _La La Land_,” Shane chimes in.

Ryan aims a kick at his shins. “Shut up.” He clears his throat and continues: he goes through the history of suicides that have evidently happened here, and the sightings people report such as a woman wandering in front of cars, and a man jumping only for his body to disappear after he goes over the edge.

Everything is pretty chill—Shane hesitates to say boring but, well, it’s a bridge at night, it’s not exactly _thrilling_—up until Ryan starts the spirit box up again. He makes Shane hold the recorder while he fires up the spirit box and there’s a moment’s delay of blissful silence before the static fills the air again.

“My name is Ryan,” he says over the crackle of the radio, “if someone is there, can you communicate with me?”

“My name’s Shane, by the way,” Shane says for form’s sake. “I don’t think you’re here, but sure, give it a shot.”

“Shh!” Ryan says, but he’s smiling. Ryan opens his mouth to say something else when the spirit box spits out a couple words (Shane thinks it might’ve been an ad for a new mattress store, but he’s not positive) and Ryan jumps about a foot off the ground. He stumbles against Shane’s side, breathing heavy; even though it’s dark, Shane can see his grip on the spirit box is nearly white-knuckled.

Ryan’s still leaning against him when, a few seconds later, more words come spilling out. Shane knows for sure this time it was a car insurance commercial, but he doesn’t say so. Ryan startles again, and if he wasn’t holding the spirit box so tightly, Shane thinks he’d probably be clinging _to_ Shane.

_ If this is a weird take on the ‘yawn and put your arm around their shoulder thing,’ it’s got mixed success,  _ Shane thinks.

“Hey, I’ve got a question,” Shane says over the spirit box.

“For the spirits?”

“No,” Shane says flatly, “for you. Because spirits aren’t real.”

Ryan turns off the spirit box and Shane’s ears ring slightly. “What?”

“Why did you wait till night time to come out here?”

“What?”

“I just mean…you probably could’ve done this in the daylight, aside from like, people being around. But people have seen weirder shit in public, I’m sure. So why do it at night? Is it just for the ambiance?”

“Most ghost sightings are reported as being at night, so I’m trying to recreate those conditions.”

Shane laughs, startled. “Seriously?”

“Yes!” Ryan sounds indignant, like he’s a few seconds shy of stomping his foot. “The most compelling evidence tends to happen at night, and studies have shown that that’s when ghosts are most active, so—!”

“God, I can’t believe I—?” Shane stops himself short, but Ryan stops too. He squints at Shane. “I can’t believe I came along for this, is all,” Shane says. _Better_, he thinks, _better than saying you want to date him_.

“Uh huh…” Ryan takes the recorder back. “Whatever, c’mon, I wanna keeping going.”

And so they do: they meander across the bridge, and then through the tunnel under the bridge, and then back across the bridge to the car. Nothing happens, although Ryan does jump a couple more times at what Shane can only assume is wind. Nothing appears before them, Shane doesn’t hear any voices calling to him, and he’s willing to bet that when Ryan listens to his recording later, all he’s going to hear is their breathing.

“So, this was…something,” Shane says as they clamber back into Ryan’s car.

“I’ve heard varying reports on how active the bridge is.” Ryan’s defensive as the car roars to life.

“Or, and hear me out here, it’s not haunted.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Just because we didn’t find anything doesn’t mean there’s nothing _to_ find.”

Shane can’t help his laugh again. “God, you’re really committed to this, aren’t you? You seriously believe this.”

“I do.” Ryan’s quiet until they’re back on the main road. “I know you think it’s dumb, or whatever, but…yeah.”

“I mean, I’d love to believe! I’d love to see a ghost and know it’s a ghost for sure and not like, a jacked-up fog machine, and then carry on with my life. But that hasn’t happened, nor do I expect it will happen, so.”

“Come with me on another haunt,” Ryan says the second Shane’s finished talking.

“Right now?”

“No. I usually do them, like, once a week.” Ryan pauses and Shane can see him chewing his bottom lip uncertainly. “I’ve been getting some comments on my blog lately that my stuff is, y’know, kind of stale. Or boring. Or whatever.”

“Okay…”

“So, if you _want_ to believe so bad, and all you need is proof, then come be like, my co-host or whatever.”

“We’re gonna co-host a blog.”

“I dunno, we could turn it into a podcast or something? There are options. I just think I could convince you, is all.”

“I could just come over from time to time and you show me what proof you’ve got.”

“Oh, like with the Queen Mary video? Cuz _that_ worked so well.”

Shane snickers. “Fair enough.” He looks out the window and drums his hands on his thighs while he considers the offer.

He doesn’t have too much going on in his life: school, his job, flying back to Illinois occasionally to visit family, hanging out with Sara. That’s about it. He’s been happy with that, up until now. And sure, ghost hunting isn’t exactly what he thought he’d be doing to fill up his free time but he’s not exactly complaining.

Ryan believes whole-heartedly in ghosts, almost to the point of being infuriating—but he’s funny, and smart, and hot to boot. Shane could do worse than traipsing around dilapidated houses with him, probably.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll do it. I’ll rescue you and your blog from falling into obscurity.”

“That’s so not what I said.” Ryan flashes a grin at him. “But thanks.”

Shane texts Sara once they’re back at Ryan’s (_back at his place, didn’t get murked!_) and clambers out of Ryan’s car. He doesn’t make a move to come back up because it’s late, and no matter how much Ryan grins at him, there’s still such a thing as overstaying a welcome.

Ryan waits beside the car with him. Shane swivels his key ring around one finger as he contemplates his next move.

“I’m glad you came tonight.” Ryan speaks first, nearly startling Shane into dropping his keys. “Even if we didn’t find anything.”

“Maybe next time,” Shane says gamely. “Also, I’ve been thinking.” He takes a deep breath. He’s been tinkering with the thought for the last fifteen minutes of the drive, and he’s still not wholly sold on it being a good idea but. Well. What’s he got to lose? A gig on a ghost hunting blog? Could be worse.

“Uh oh,” Ryan says with a wide grin. “That big noggin is for thinking?”

“It’s for more than just looking good.” Shane shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking…Can our next date be something _not_ ghost-related. Like, how about dinner, and a movie?”

“Wait, what?” Ryan’s expression morphs instantly from the shit-eating grin to wide eyes and mouth ajar. “A date? Our _next_ date?” Then, after a moment of gaping like a very confused fish, “you want to date me?”

Shane’s about to backpedal faster than anyone’s ever backpedaled in their life when a hand fists in the front of his shirt and yanks him down.

He crashes against Ryan in a clumsy kiss that’s over before it’s really stared. Even so, Ryan’s back to grinning. “You seriously want to date me?” Ryan asks.

“Uh, yes.” Shane licks his lips; he feels dazed. “I do want to date you, even though you believe in ghosts like it’s gospel and bought a crystal ball from the hack shop I work at. Which really goes against everything I’ve ever stood for, but, y’know. The heart wants what the heart wants. Or something.”

“Wow,” Ryan says, awed.

“I’m as shocked as you are, trust me.” Then, Shane leans down and kisses him again. Slower and softer this time. He brings a hand to cup Ryan’s cheek, tilts his head just so, keeps the kiss chaste with a hint of more. Shane’s heart is thudding heavily in his chest as he pulls back. “This is definitely the weirdest first date I’ve ever been on, by the way.”

“It doesn’t count if I didn’t know it was a date.”

“You’re sure this whole thing wasn’t an elaborate ruse to kiss me? The ghosts, the ball, all of it?”

“Nope,” Ryan says, voice full of mirth. “Sorry, big guy.”

Shane feels a blush warm his cheeks at the nickname. “Well, like I said, I still want to date you.”

“Cool,” Ryan says, and Shane laughs into their next kiss. “But this can’t count as our first date, I have way weirder haunted places I can take you and then we can do dinner after or something.”

_ So much for a non-ghost related date, _ Shane thinks. He laughs again until Ryan kisses him silent.

Shane forgets to check his phone until he gets home with lips that are kiss-sore and foggy thoughts.

_ Sounds like something someone who got murked would say, _ is Sara’s reply.

Shane snickers to himself as he texts back.

_ didn’t get murked, I swear  
DID get a boyfriend tho _

Shane changes into his pajamas before falling into bed; his phone chimes twice in succession and he grabs it from the bedside table. There are two texts, one from Sara, and one from Ryan:

_ YOU’RE DATING A GHOST HUNTER?? _

_ I’ve got our next date lined up. Next Saturday. This time we’re getting proof. _

Shane shakes his head fondly. 

**Author's Note:**

> may write more in this AU-verse if the urge strikes!


End file.
